Forty-Eight
by graceless angels
Summary: What if for the 75th Annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, twenty-four victors and twenty-four tributes were sent in? AU/AH (Continues from Chap.13 of Catching Fire.)
1. Chapter 1

"_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."_

This is it. I am going back into the arena.

The rules were that once you win, you don't go back in. Ever.

But now the rules have been broken. It's funny- the strict, unyielding Capitol defying it's own rules.

My eyes shut tightly and tears drip from the ends, ever so slightly. I can almost hear my mother's eyes shutting themselves, Prim nearly shaking in her seat.

But Snow continues on, and I dread whatever he has to say next, just like every other victor in every other district is.

"In addition to this year's Games, there will be also, twenty-four new tributes, accompanied with the twenty-four victors."

I feel my eyes open, my jaw almost dropping. So now I must fight twenty-three skilled victors _and _twenty-four poor, innocent, damned souls?

Why? Why is Snow doing this to us? Do we not suffer enough by the Capitol's hand? Is twenty-three deaths not enough every year? And now, they want to take away people that have already been corrupted by the Capitol.

But, the only thing I can think of is, also: _how? _How can the Capitol expect us all to fight forty-seven other tributes, weaved into these Games just like us? How? Even for them, it is too much.

Or perhaps not. Maybe they will never be pleased. Maybe we will simply hand over more and more innocents until there is simply none left.

Although that will never happen. People marry every day. Children are born every day. It's also some sort of puzzle, but every piece is stuck.

Perhaps the Dark Days were about trying to break the entire puzzle, altogether.

Before, the victors were a sign that not everyone is gone. Soon, they turned into a sign that everyone can be corrupted. Even the most innocent of children, once have witnessed enough, or killed enough, can turn into a Capitol show-off. It's been done many times in the past, too.

After the whole show is over, mother runs outside before the people from the Capitol show up for reports and pictures, and it's just me and Prim sitting there quietly. I hug my knees, trying to make sense of everything, when Prim's shaky voice starts talking.

"Katniss?" she asks, quietly.

"Yes, Prim?" I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as possible. The last thing I want is for Prim to see me cry, especially now, at this particular moment.

"What does President Snow mean?"

Of course. She's probably as confused as I am. Although most people won't understand what Snow meant, it came to me pretty quickly. And I dread how I am going to explain it to her, without clearly telling her I am going to die. That the Capitol will finally be rid of the Girl on Fire, who is hope for hundreds.

I take a deep breath.

"He means that all the people that have won the Games in the past will be reaped to play again."

Her blue eyes widen as she takes everything in.

"But he said about twenty-four new victors, too. What does that mean?"

I inhale again to stop myself from crying, to remove the redness from my face, the slightly swelling of my eyes.

"It means that twenty-four new people will be reaped too. Like last year, except they'll compete with the victors, because it's the Quarter Quell, okay?"

"Okay."

"Why don't you go help mom with the people outside, huh? Or.." my mind wanders to find the perfect excuse for Prim to leave, or at least do something far away from me, while I cry, at least. "-Take Buttercup for a walk, okay?"

She nods and walks off, leaving me alone. All the tears start falling now, faster than below, in large quantities. For a while I fear if my tear ducts will dry out or not, but soon the thought is out my head.

Everything is ruined. I will have to play in these Games for sure; there is no other female tribute. But I am wondering who will accompany me; Peeta or Haymitch? And the possibility of their deaths is imminent as well.

Is this my fault? Am I reason that the Capitol thinks they must murder victors as well as tributes? Is this the aftereffect of the riot I have caused, or at least, yet to cause?

I don't even want to think like that.

The following days pass quickly, Prim and mother trying to ward off all the press people, trying to spend time with me while they can, and visits from Peeta and Haymitch.

I never realized the stakes of these Games. Last year's Games were much different; and there wasn't any way they were letting more than one person win this time. I think if anyone at all tried to kill themselves with another person, they'd blow one of them to bits before they could do anything, just like how Snow had told me.

I plan another meeting with Haymitch, just to discuss our plan. I never thought I'd have to again, but here I am. There is already too much going on, but planning ahead might keep me alive for a little while.

And so this time, instead of me being the first priority, it's Peeta.

Keep Peeta alive.

Get him out of the arena, alive. The task would have seemed simple (or maybe less complicated) when we were against only twenty-two others. But adding another two dozen to that just makes me want to pass out, or go to sleep and never wake up.

Getting Peeta out meant that we could still have a last slip of hope for us all, especially the people of district twelve.

If only we could figure out how exactly to do that.

On the day of the Reaping, everyone gathers in the square. It's almost the same as last year, the older ones in the front, younger towards the back. One girl in particular catches my eye. Her resemblance to Prim is almost perfect, and she has to be one of the shortest girls there, so most definitely the youngest. I remember where I stood last year, despite everything that's happened since then. Another girl, maybe a year younger than me stands there now, dark hair in a braid and an apricot colored dress. I inhale and exhale, while Effie shows the film, welcomes everyone, and then says, "Let's get started now, shall we?"

Effie reaps the victors first.

"The female tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games, and the Third Quarter Quell is-" she opens the only piece of paper in the reaping ball. "-Katniss Everdeen." Her voice lacks the usual confidence and excitement, and is more muted and sad before she coughs quickly and calls me over.

After my name is called, I walk to Effie and shut my eyes. Why couldn't this be nothing more than a dream? Something I could wake up to and then eventually forget?

Haymitch's name is called next. Peeta volunteers. It happens so quickly, I almost forget to pay attention.

And then Effie chooses the tributes from all the rest of District Twelve. Effie's hand claws around the other, filled Reaping Ball and finally grabs a paper. She reaps a young girl first- perhaps only fourteen, named Serena. Like the rest of the district, she has dark hair and gray eyes, but her skin is pale- or maybe that's just the effect of the reaping.

Then Effie calls the name of a handsome boy- maybe fifteen or so by the name of Marker. For a moment, I thought Gale had volunteered in place of the boy- they look so alike.

Gale. Another pang in my heart. Another person I'll miss. Someone else that I will never get to say goodbye to again. Someone else whose death I have caused.

People raise three fingers, a simple sign to show us sympathy, and then we are taken to the trains- without our goodbyes.

I feel horrible for Serena and Marker, who didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to their families, and then bad for Peeta and I.

I had already said my goodbyes, but if Peeta hadn't- and he was reaped again, I couldn't even bare the thought.

Haymitch came in through the doors, where Peeta, me, and the two other tributes sat. We all stayed quiet- not much to talk about anyways.

Finally, the boy, Marker, spoke up. Just like Peeta had the year before.

"So what's the deal in these Games anyway?"

I honestly felt bad. He probably knew that he was going up against twenty-four skilled victors and twenty-three determined tributes.

"The deal is that you are going up against forty-seven other tributes that want to kill you," Haymitch said, his words slightly slurred. Maybe he only had a few drinks.

"What he means is that every district is giving our two victors _and _two tributes," Peeta replied, trying to make up for Haymitch.

"I didn't ask you," Marker coldly replied, glaring at Peeta, who was obviously taken aback.

"Marker!" the girl, Serena, said, giving him a stern look. "He's just upset-" Figures. "-He didn't mean to snap, now did he?" she said, giving him a chance to apologize, which Marker turned aside.

"It's okay," Peeta replied, sitting back. Of course Peeta understood. Of course he wasn't mad. That was who Peeta was.

I think I might've snapped, however, and done/said something I would come to regret.

"So how're we supposed to survive this whole thing, then?" Marker asked again.

"Sponsors. Which is a big thing now, because everyone's going to be aiming for the victors. Nobody's gonna give a second look to the two of you."

After a jaw drop from Serena, a glare from Peeta, and a shove from me, Haymitch finally added, "So that's why you have to… really make sure they notice you. Not only when you're training, but during everything."

The train ride passed with more questions from both of them, snarky replies from Haymitch, and glares from Peeta and me.

Effie walked in later on, telling us we'd better go to bed soon, and we'd get to the Capitol later tomorrow.

Serena and Marker shuffled off awkwardly once Effie had left, and faint 'good nights' were shared. Haymitch stumbled into his room with a bottle of hard liquor in his hand, which Peeta struggled to take from him, so he didn't poison himself while sleeping.

It was quite a scene, really, and it ended with the bottle of alcohol smashing to the floor, covering most of the floor.

"Damn you boy!" Haymitch drunkenly said, before walking to his room.

Peeta wiped some of the liquor from his head on his clothes.

"He'll thank me for that in the morning," he said. I chuckled softly before saying night, and leaving.

Once in bed, I could hardly focus on anything except the Games. Everyone I was up against. The merciless killers that had succeeded in outsmarting twenty-three others.

And then I realize _I _am one of them as well. I outsmarted twenty-three others as well. I stood by and watched twenty-two people get slaughtered for the Capitol's enjoyment.

But I didn't have a choice. I had family to support. People that I love.

_But so did they, _an annoying voice in the back of my head sings.

Maybe the others had it bad, but did they have it as bad as me?

District One was luxurious. They made lots of money. There was no poverty.

District Two was loved by the Capitol. But not enough to exclude them from the Games, but loved.

Every district had it's own way of being appreciated by the Capitol, but mine was just last.

_But did they deserve to die anymore than you? _

I close my eyes and try to sleep.

And then the nightmares start.

I am back in the arena, our old one. Bloody bodies are everywhere. There are people behind them, people from their districts. I cannot breathe. My bow and arrow is gone. And then at my feet, I see Peeta. Dead.

I wake up, gasping. And that gasp turns in a scream. And I keep screaming.

Until Peeta walks in. Tears start streaming down my face while Peeta comes and hugs me. I sob on his shoulder until eventually I fall asleep.

But the last thought on my mind is; if this is what torments me now, what will come in the future?

* * *

**hey guys :) it's me with another story I want to finish. anyways I've been really into THG and I saw catching fire yesterday and I just- fanfiction. **

**anyways yeah :) read and review :) sorry about any errors (which there probably is a lot of) and no hate please :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up within a haze of my own nightmares and reality. Peeta is gone, but Effie comes soon to my room to tell me we are nearly at the Capitol, only perhaps a few hours of a ride left.

When I walk into the dining cart, Haymitch is pouring some drink into his tea (most likely some sort of heavy liqueur) while Marker is off to the side, ignoring everyone else and just staring out the window. I feel sympathy for him because I understand what it's like to be in these Games and be alone, or at least feel like it. But now I have not only myself to worry about, but also Peeta, for the goal is to get him out alive.

Serena sat alone, a plate of uneaten eggs and bacon lying in front of her. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Effie was giving her speech, saying how we can do it if we unite and stand strong. But what are we exactly _doing? _Trying to get us all out alive? Trying to stay alive long enough to see everyone you know die? What?

But Effie even started tearing up at the end. Peeta gave her an uneasy pat on the shoulder, and Marker rolled his eyes.

From the train, we could see the Capitol. Serena sat watching outside, the crowds of fans roaring at her. She waved back to them, while Marker sat far away from the windows, with pursed lips.

Once at the Capitol, there was not much to do except get settled. However, we were leaving to our deaths in a few days time. I think it was best _not _to get too comfortable.

Our floor this time was much more different, with the color scheme of red and black. The relationship of those particular colors with blood was almost enough to make me puke. Serena and Marker looked around the entire place a familiar sort of curiosity, just trying to get used to the whole place. I couldn't blame them, however. I did it too.

There were lavish pieces of furniture decorating the entire floor. Couches had thick layers of leather and soft throw pillows tossed on carelessly. The kitchen had lots of shiny wooden chairs and tables, probably polished a million times to give it that glow it had. The Avox stood to the side quietly, and Serena and Marker were taken aback by them.

I swallow nothing just because my throat is filled with something horrible. The thought of them getting slaughtered by killers has already infiltrated my mind.

And then I realize, it hits me so fast I can barely process it- they aren't the _killers. _The killers are the everyone behind the Hunger Games. Snow, would be an example of one.

The people who were forced were the victims- just like anyone who was Reaped. I can't believe this has just gotten to me. I keep thinking these people that were roped into these Games, just like me, are the horrible and vicious murderers when they're not. They had to fight for their life.

And that is what I will today as well. If I am to keep Peetaalive, I will have to fight. If I am so certain I will die, when I don't I do something about it before I am dead?

The first night for dinner, many meals are put out, during which Peeta and I eat silently and let Serena ask questions to a slightly-sober Haymitch, while Marker listened on.

After dinner (which ended quickly), we sat in the living room and watched old tapes of all the Games. One of the most vicious Games were of when the victor-tribute from District Two won.

"Enobaria," Haymitch had said. "She ripped someone's throat out in her Games. Be careful of her."

We replayed more Games and Reapings, just to see who was one of the biggest threats. I thought that made District One and Two were the worst people to have as enemies (which they probably already were) while Peeta was convinced it was District Four that would lead to our downfall. Dramatic.

After a while, we were sent off to bed, to be prepared for the Opening Ceremony. I washed myself and then headed off to bed, wanted a decent night's sleep- meaning without any nightmares- but maybe somethings are just impossible.

The night passed quickly.

I had nightmares again- this time, me killing Marvel. I wake in a panic but decide not to go to Peeta. He needs rest as well.

We are sent to our stylists right away. Flavius, Venia, and Octavia pull the regular routine with me, with occasional outbursts of tears and mutters about how '_The odds will never be your favor.' _I think perhaps they have actually grown to like me. Then I remind myself by not having me around anymore, they don't get invites to all the big Capitol parties where I am needed as a victor. That pretty much kept everyone crying.

Another thought starts to roam my mind; how come so many aren't happy with this idea for the Quarter Quell?

The people on the news who shed real tears for those they have grown so attached to, and not just because they are family members or friends. The ones they know all about, the ones they actually wanted alive for so long. But the thought doesn't last long when I remember the people who were cheering when we rode to the Capitol. The people who were excited to see victors fight to death once more, and want to see the additional load of twenty-four extra tributes. Some of the Capitol's people did want this, and that meant it would stay.

When Cinna shows up to get me into costume, I nearly sigh in relief. The tears of my team have grown into soft whimpers but it still makes me feel like I will cry myself.

We eat lunch together (more fun Capitol food) and then we discuss the costume.

"So am I the girl on fire once more?" I ask after we finish eating.

"I don't think that's a title you can just take away, but something like it if you're curious."

I smile a little and then we get to work. Cinna first puts my hair into a braid that my mother had once taught him, and then I get the costume on. It's a simple outfit, black jumpsuit almost, sparkling with something I'm not sure of, when he starts adjusting the lights and all, and then finally lets me press a button under my wrist's fabric.

-I look down, fascinated, as my ensemble slowly comes to life, first with a soft golden light but gradually transforming to the orange-red of burning coal. I look as if I have been coated in glowing embers — no, that I am a glowing ember straight from our fireplace. The colors rise and fall, shift and blend, in exactly the way the coals do.-

"How did this even come to you?" I ask, staring into a mirror to see the whole outfit. My face is covered in colors of makeup, purples for my lips and dark, smoldering coal-colors for my eyes.

Cinna smiles and replies about how he spent lots of time looking at fires.

"Come on Girl on Fire," he says, and leads me out. Everyone is getting ready for the Parade and so we all stand, waiting for the cues.

I look around me. The first person I see is Finnick Odair, the sex symbol of Panem. He's showing so much skin that I feel the stupid need to blush and turn away.

-Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when

he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the

odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary

beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other

tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never

wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to

realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and

knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident—which may

be the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena—it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing.

He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net

out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the

trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.-

Everyone from District Seven is wearing some sort of tree assemble, but the only one showing any sign of distaste is Johanna Mason, the cunning victor who pretended to be weak during her Games and then killed with a passion. She was currently plucking leaves from her costume, and tossing them aside, carelessly. She used the back of her hand to wipe some of the heavy makeup placed on her, and threw her entire head piece away, to the floor.

I think her stylists were used to this, because they didn't do anything except fetch someone to pick it up, and continue doing whatever they had been.

The four tributes from District Three have on some sort of outfit with a real keyboard on it. Whenever they tried typing something on it, it'd show up on their headpiece, which was a long, winding hat, almost, that had words imprinted on it, disappearing and appearing as they clicked buttons on the board.

I notice Peeta next, who is wearing the same costume as me. I look back and see that Serena and Marker have on the same kind of outfit as Peeta and I, but different, with more a coal-miner theme. I assume this because they both have a kind of picaxe with them.

The Parade starts by wheeling out District One, and curving them onto a circle near a balcony where President Snow will give his speech.

Soon, all the Districts have gone, and it is only us left. I have seen every district's tributes and victors, and I have seen every face. Everyone is trying to act as if they will win these Games, when in reality only one will. That kind of thing is almost terrorizing, except I have seen worse.

When we start driving our carriage, instead of waving and smiling like I did last time, I keep my eyes focused and determined.

Somewhere along the way, Peeta finds my hand and we cart ourselves onward.

Snow has many a word to say, about the Quarter Quell. About our victors. About our Tributes.

He finished his speech with the ever-traditional _Happy Hunger Games _and by wishing us luck. Keeping us wishing if the odds are in our favor.

But so far in my entire life, if there's one thing I have learned so far, every day and every minute I am alive, it is that the odds are never in our favor.

_Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it was lots of fun to write! Anyways, I tried to make Katniss's character more developed and not just about death and all that :) anyways please read and review! Sorry about any errors (which there probably are) and please no hate! Thank you! _

_Ps. The two paragraphs with the dashes at the beginning and end are from the actual Catching Fire book, so rights to those two paragraphs go to Suzanne Collins._


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